VULTURES AND HISTORY

We arrived in Willowmore with more bus problems ho hum. Same thing – sucking air. Dam. Luckily we didn’t have too hectic a deadline but this wasn’t part of the plan. Theo tried but couldn’t fix the problem so we headed for the garage where they suggested we get an electrical fuel pump which they fitted but after a test drive, the problem persisted. It was 1 o clock and the town closed so it looked like we were there for the weekend. Piet, the very friendly garage owner, insisted we could park in his workshop yard with electricity access and keys to toilets until Monday morning but we were happy to park at a laybye where we could braai and enjoy nature. Later Piet drove the 2km out of town to make sure we were ok and for a chat. He told us he enjoyed flying his microlight and later that afternoon we looked up to see him flying over and wave, satisfied that all’s well. Next morning Theo decided to have another look under the bus and seemed to sort out the problem. We drove around a little to make sure the problem didn’t come back, phoned Piet to tell him we were on our way again and later that day we stopped outside Aberdeen, 200 km past Willowmore, looked up and so wraggies waar we saw Piet flying overhead to wave us on our way. No that’s what you call country service. If it was Cape Town you could confuse Piet’s enthusiasm with the eager roadside tow truck vultures out scanning the tarmac for possible business.

We left the green Rhenosterbos behind us and headed for Graaf Reinette, where we strolled through the military museum and educated ourselves about the Anglo Boer War. The vegetation had turned a dull yellowy brown. I imagined a lion would blend in easily with the grass and I got a kind of a African feeling staring out the window. Well the first few hours anyway, by day 2 it was just more and more boring yellowy browny grass. I was used to green stuff in winter in the Western Cape not this dry open space unfolding for km after km ahead. The book said we’d left the arid region and were in savannah grassland. We overnighted just outside Colesburg and tried our shower out for the first time. It worked perfectly and I felt good. We’d been sleeping at pullovers all the time, (except of course the times we stayed with friends) and we’d always felt safe. I don’t know what all the fuss is about being safe out on the road in SA. The crime is way less out in the gamadoelas, probably cos there’s like a whole 6 people living in the whole Freestate but we are op en wakker and Theo keeps the tazer (stun shock thingie) handy. He wears it on his belt these days since the other day he shocked his leg from the inside of his pocket, not that I’m complaining since a day or 2 recuperating from sex was a relief.

We arrived in Bethulie, a town steeped in Anglo Boer War history, and stayed at Lupo, a biker friend who had sold up his stuff to travel SA and Namibia with Anette on their GS’s but they stopped in Bethulie, bought a house, converted it into a bike packer, and stayed. Lupo was our inspiration to get out of the ratrace so we were keen to see him. He showed us grave sites, the huge concentration camp site where just under 2 000 people died in tents. He took us to the museum, we read letters written by the Khakies to their families, read about first shots being fired at Novalspoort, and by the time we left Bethulie, the Anglo Boer war wasn’t just an event written about in history books, it became real, involving real people suffering horrific conditions.

Lupo showed us the massive, I mean maase massive Gariep dam. Not a person, not a boat, canoe, picnic table or tourist in site. What a pity the dusty, vertragte, town seemed to show little interest in putting itself on the map. If you do find yourself in the historical Bethulie, stop over at Lupo's Bike packers phone 083 251 3555 or check out his website www.BikerPackers.Bethulie.za.net. He will give you a guided tour of the place and is good company.

Back on the bus, a vehicle with a view, and on to Bloemfontein.